


Time Travel's a Bitch

by wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester UST, Gabriel Lives, M/M, Roleplay, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:08:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So a fifteen-year-old Sammy shows up in the bunker. That's not exactly a good thing; it brings back memories for both Dean and Sam. So, of course it's all Gabriel's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Travel's a Bitch

Dean groaned, leaning back and rubbing his eyes. "Sammy," he whined, glancing over at Sam hopefully. "We need burgers. Can I be released from research duty?" They were trying to research the actual origins of the Men of Letters, and while Sam was having the time of his life, Dean was developing a headache.

Sam didn't look at him, but a fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips. " _You_ need burgers," he corrected with a wave of his hand toward the door. "I need a salad. Get out of here."

Dean grinned. "Sure thing, Bugs," he smirked, getting to his feet and snagging the keys and his coat, pulling the coat on and then twirling the keys around his finger as he walked out. Dean smiled happily to himself as he pulled away from the bunker. He and Sam had a home base now, and they didn't even have to stock it; the Men of Letters had done that for them. Sure, they'd add their stuff as time went on, but right now, they were at a high point.

It couldn't last long, though; they were Winchesters, after all.

***

Sam jumped up when he heard the thud just outside the library door, abandoning his books without hesitation. "Dean, are you alright? Did you—" The words died on his lips as soon as he stepped out into the hallway. The heap of sprawling limbs and unruly hair on the floor was not his brother—but Sam barely had time to register that before the heap righted itself and drew a gun on him. Sam held out his hands. "Woah, woah, don't shoot," he babbled, taking a step backwards into the library. "I'm not gonna hurt you. You don't need to hurt me."

The kid bared his teeth, the gun aimed directly at Sam's heart. "Like hell you're not gonna hurt me," he snarled. "Why else would you bring me here, to feed me milk and cookies?"

"Hey, I didn't bring you here!" Sam protested. "I don't even know how you got here. Now just put—"

"Where's my brother?" the kid interrupted furiously. " _What have you done to Dean?!_ "

Sam's jaw hit the floor.

***

Dean walked back into the bunker, brandishing the bag of food and yelling, "Sammy! I've got your rabbit food."

There was no reply, which was odd, and Dean frowned, depositing the food on a table and reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans. He moved quietly through the bunker, heading for the library.

The sight that met him in the hallway made him stop in his tracks. His brother was standing with his hands held out placatingly, and...

And his brother was holding a gun on him.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean demanded, taking a step forward.

For the first time in the last twenty minutes, Sam saw the younger version of himself relax. He understood why: Dean might be fifteen years older and a hell of a lot deeper than this Sam was used to, but the cadence of his voice was still recognisable. The kid lowered his gun a fraction of an inch, so that he would shoot his counterpart in the stomach instead of the chest, and dared to flick his gaze to his brother. "Dean?" he asked, uncertain but urgent. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? This bastard says he's me, but he's _not_."

Dean's gaze flicked up to Sam before moving back to Sammy, and he carefully tucked his gun away before cautiously moving into Sammy's line of sight. "He is," he said slowly. "You're the one that's out of place here, Sammy. Or rather, out of time."

"Don't call me Sammy," the younger Sam snapped instinctively, before his eyes widened in shock. He seemed to have only just registered just how much older Dean was than the brother he knew. "It's not true," he insisted desperately. "It can't be. You're not _my_ Dean." With shaking hands, he pointed the gun at Dean. "You're both _monsters_!"

Sam, the one who wasn't a confused teenager, acted fast. Whether this kid was his younger self or not, no one held a gun on Dean like that. He knocked the gun out of the boy's hand and kicked it away from them, easily catching hold of the fist that swung his way in retaliation. "Stop it," he hissed, wrapping his arms around the kid's chest and holding him fast. "Relax. We're not gonna hurt you, and we're not lying. That guy _is_ your Dean, or what he'll be at thirty five anyway. He's, what, twenty in your time?"

The kid struggled desperately, but his arms were pinned to his side and he couldn't get the advantage over the giant holding him. Still, he couldn't help correcting the son of a bitch. "Nineteen," he growled.

Sam relaxed his hold slightly. "That makes you fifteen," he murmured. Christ. That had been a bad year.

"I've gotta tell you two apart somehow," Dean shot back. "Sam, let him go; you got his gun away from him, and I think I can handle him if he tries to attack me." Dean waited until Sam had complied—complete with the anticipated bitchface—before stepping towards the younger Sam. "What's the last thing you remember before showing up here?" he asked, studying him. God, Sammy looked just how Dean remembered; it hurt, actually. It hurt a lot, knowing what this kid would end up going through.

Sammy bit his lip, struggling to remember exactly what he was doing before he'd been dropped onto the floor in this godforsaken place and adrenaline had flooded his system. "Uhh, I was walking home from school. We're in Milwaukee, but we won't be for much longer. Dad got back from dealing with a poltergeist last night. Nasty bastard, cut him up real bad before he wasted it and Dean—you, I guess, couldn't get me from school 'cause you were looking after him."

"I remember that," Sam cut in. "I used to stay back at school for as long as I could, 'cause Dad got real fucking nasty when he was in pain. It was always dark when I started walking back. Did you see anything?"

Sammy shook his head. "Like you said, it was too dark. I heard something, though. Like a—a laugh." It wasn't much to go on, but it didn't matter. For the first time since he'd arrived, the kid was starting to look at Sam with something akin to trust.

Dean glanced up at Sam, communicating silently. Eventually, he reached forward and laid a hand on Sammy's shoulder. "Well, until we find out who—or what—decided to send you fifteen years into your future, you're stuck here. Luckily we've got the biggest library of supernatural knowledge right here."

At Dean's words, it suddenly seemed to occur to Sammy that he had no idea where he was. He looked up into his brother's face—not a novelty; Sam recalled that he hadn't grown taller than Dean until that last summer before Stanford—and asked, "What is this place?"

Dean grinned. "This is our very own Bat Cave," he announced proudly, leading Sammy into the library. "Built by an organization called the Men of Letters. It contains knowledge about just about every supernatural creature throughout most of time. Plus lots of other cool rooms and stuff."

Sammy's eyes were wide and his mouth open as he looked around the library, clearly awed and already salivating for all the knowledge he could gain from the books in this beautiful room. Honestly, his expression wasn't much different to the one Sam had worn when he'd first seen the place as an adult. "It's amazing," Sammy breathed before turning back to Dean, looking anxious. "You broke in, right? How long do you think we've got before we have to leave?"

"As long as we want, Sammy. This is our home now." Dean watched his younger brother's face, emotions swirling in his gut. Things like hurt, wistfulness, love, protectiveness, lust...

Yeah, he should probably get a handle on that last one. He'd managed to hide it for fifteen years; just because his kid brother time-traveled didn't mean he was gonna slip up now. He still had to live with Sam.

"It's Sam," Sammy corrected automatically, before the rest of Dean's words registered. The look of exaggerated shock and hope on his face would have been comical if it hadn't been so heartbreaking. "You have a home? A real home?"

Sam put an arm around his younger self's shoulders and squeezed. "A real home," he confirmed, smiling. Sammy remained dumbstruck for a very long moment, but his grin, when it finally emerged, was brighter than the sun.

Dean ruffled Sammy's hair. "You're Sammy while you're here," he informed the misplaced Winchester. "He's Sam. I don't want both of you reacting whenever I need to tell one of you something."

Dean watched as Sammy moved farther into the library, and then he turned to Sam. "Think maybe an angel or trickster got to him?" he asked, jerking his thumb at Sammy.

Sam shrugged, his eyes on the teenager. "I don't know. What would an angel have to gain by sending him here? Us back then, maybe, but I don't know how they could benefit from my fifteen year old self seeing how good we've got it now." He sighed. "A trickster might be doing it for its own amusement rather than to gain some kind of advantage, but I still don't see why. Maybe it's just a spell gone wrong? Maybe someone _was_ trying to get us back to Sammy's time, but they messed it up?"

Dean frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe. You don't remember this, do you? Coming here when you were fifteen?" It seemed pretty obvious, but Dean wanted to be sure.

Sam glared. "Yeah, Dean, I remember all of this. I just forgot to mention that I travelled to the future and realised that one day I would, in fact, be taller than you." He smirked. "You _know_ I never would've let you live that down. So, no, I don't remember anything like this. But maybe he won't either, assuming we can get him back to his time."

Dean massaged his temples. "Fucking time travel. Okay, if you don't remember anything, then obviously he somehow manages to lose these memories—and he returns to the same time, because I don't remember you ever coming home abnormally late when we were in Milwaukee." And he'd definitely remember that—he'd hated not being able to see Sam for more than five minutes in the morning and evening, because Dad had been demanding Dean's attention constantly. "So we need to figure out what brought him here, and then find a way to send him back. Fuck, I wish Cas was here."

"Pray to him," Sam suggested. "He won't listen to me, but he might listen to you." If there was a slightly bitter edge to his voice as he said this, well, Dean wouldn't notice it. He never did.

Dean shrugged. "You know he's been MIA; why would he listen to me now?" Still, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Hey, Cas, can you cmere? We've got two Sams, and we have to get one of them back to his timeline." He waited, and when there was no flutter of wings, Dean opened his eyes and gave Sam a meaningful look. "See?"

Sam looked down, feeling sheepish and just a little bit ashamed. He wasn't supposed to be relieved that Cas had failed to respond to Dean's call—they needed him to help fix Sammy, after all—but he couldn't help it. "Whatever," he said after a moment, giving Dean a grim smile. "We don't need him. We can work this out for ourselves."

Dean offered Sam a reassuring smile. "Yes, we can," he repeated, reaching out to lay his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing lightly before pulling back. "C'mon, let's go research tricksters."

In the few hours they spent researching, they completely lost track of Sammy, who had disappeared into the stacks at the back of the library. Sam didn't worry too much—he knew all too well how easy it was to get sucked in by the wealth of knowledge surrounding them—but when the kid finally emerged, looking unsure, he pointedly cleared his throat. Predictably enough, it was Dean who Sammy chose to approach, shoulders set with false bravado.

"I've been thinking," he announced. "Where's Dad? Does he live here with you? 'Cause he's gonna be pissed when he finds out I'm here, and I think if he doesn't live with you, then we shouldn't tell him. I don't want you guys getting reamed because of me." Despite his best efforts, it was pretty obvious that Sammy didn't want his dad to yell at him, either.

 _Shit._ Dean hadn't expected to have to deal with this—but this was Sammy they were dealing with; the kid had always been exceptionally bright. He glanced over at Sam before putting his book down to face Sammy fully. "Dad isn't here, not anymore."

Sammy stared, his eyes wide in surprise. "He's... he's _dead_?"

Dean swallowed and nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice rough. "Several years ago. Not for several years in your time."

Sammy's eyes filled with tears. He didn't get on with his dad, but he loved him; he definitely didn't want to hear that he was dead. "No," he mumbled, looking to Sam for reassurance. "He can't be. He's _Dad_."

"He is," Sam answered sadly. "I'm sorry."

Dean could feel that instinct rising, the one that made Sam's comfort more important than Dean's own, and he followed it, reaching out to pull Sammy into his arms. He wrapped the misplaced Sam in a hug, letting the boy cry into his shirt.

Sam watched from a safe distance, glad to see that Dean had closed his eyes while he held Sammy. He knew his own face was a picture of pain that had nothing to do with the death of his father. Dean never held him like that anymore, hadn't even back when he was Sammy's age, and seeing his brother break down those walls to comfort a crying fifteen year old who didn't even belong with him hurt beyond belief.

At long last, Sammy pulled back, his face red and streaked with tears. "Sorry," he mumbled shyly, stumbling back a few steps. "Did—did he go, chasing that thing? The thing that killed mom?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah." He didn't say that John Winchester had made a deal with it for Dean's life—Sammy didn't need to know that.

Sammy nodded, sniffling softly. "Good," he whispered. "That's how he would want to go. I know. I see it in his face sometimes."

Dean hid a wince; he remembered John's desperation to find the demon, especially as Sam became more rebellious. "Yeah," he said, looking up at Sam in time to catch the last vestiges of pain on his Sam's face. He looked at Sam questioningly.

Sam shook his head and offered Dean a smile that felt foreign and uncomfortable on his mouth. Let him think that the memory of Dad was upsetting him; the option furthest from the truth was generally the safest. "Come on," he said when the silence stretched out for a little too long, pushing his research aside and standing up. "Let's find something to eat, okay? We have a kitchen now, and Dean's a great cook."

Dean could see the disbelief on Sammy's face, and he chuckled. "Hey, now that I actually have something substantial to work with, I'm actually a good cook," he protested, slinging an arm around Sammy's shoulders as he steered him towards the kitchen. While he cooked up some hot dogs and mac 'n' cheese, Dean mulled over Sam's expression from earlier. He wasn't upset about Dad—he'd gotten over it fairly quickly, especially after Dean's deal, or so Dean believed—so what was he upset about?

They ate together, the hamburgers and salad still laying forgotten on the floor outside the library. Sam stayed silent while he watched Sammy and Dean interact, the kid relaxing the more they talked, even smiling on occasion. He remembered what it was like at that age, half terrified to have Dean close in case he noticed something and half devastated that Dean seemed unwilling to let him make that choice for himself, but Sammy was starting to realise, just as Sam had over the years, that this Dean was utterly oblivious. The only difference between the two at this point was that Dean seemed okay with letting Sammy get close. Apparently Sam didn't deserve that.

After dinner, Sammy returned to the library, and Dean cornered Sam in the kitchen. "Something's bothering you," he stated, his voice brooking no argument. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Sam answered easily, wiping his hands on a dish rag. "I'm good. You seem a lot more relaxed than you have been in a while. I'm guessing you like having the kid here."

Dean eyed Sam suspiciously. "Yeah," he said eventually. "I guess. He's you, just younger. Of course I'm gonna like having him here." _For the most part,_ Dean amended silently; he really could have done without the walking reminder of _why_ he'd fallen for Sam in the first place. At least he might have had a chance with Sam when he'd been nineteen and Sam was fifteen; now, with everything that had happened, there was no way Sam could ever love Dean, not like that.

Sam smiled, and maybe it was a little sad, but sue him. Dean had just confirmed what he already knew: he was so happy to have the younger Sam around because he wasn't as much of a screw-up as the older Sam. "So you should probably spend some time with him," he suggested. "Uh, reacquaint yourself with young me while I try to work out why he's here."

Dean barely managed to keep his snort in. Right, because all he needed was another constant reminder that he couldn't have Sam, in any time. "Sure you don't want my help?" he settled on asking. "I know he's only fifteen, but he can take care of himself, and he's not stupid. You sure as hell weren't." And damned if he wasn't already thinking of Sammy as separate from Sam. What the hell was his life now?

"It's not about watching out for him," Sam answered, smirking. "And if he thinks it is, he'll kick your ass. He likes you; he feels close to you. Closer than he can get to me, anyway. You've barely changed. So go make him feel at home. Have some fun with him. He'll never admit it, but he feels safer when you're around. Trust me."

Dean studied Sam for a moment before he nodded. "All right. Maybe I'll take him down to the shooting range or something."  Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder before leaving the kitchen, heading for the library. Hell, knowing Sammy, he'd probably have to play Marco Polo to find the kid, he'd be buried so deep in the stacks.

Sure enough, Sammy was soon treated to the sound of Dean's deep— _deep_ —voice calling to him from the front of the library. He yelled back, "Polo!", and grinned when his brother, now twenty years older than him instead of four, appeared. "Hey," he greeted amicably, peering up at Dean from where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I found this really cool book on sirens, it's so interesting. Did you know they don't actually get their kicks from singing pretty songs and luring sailors to their deaths?"

Dean grimaced. "Yeah. Sam and I found that out the hard way." He flushed, still embarrassed whenever he thought about how that Siren had found out that what Dean wanted most in the world was his little brother, and used that to manipulate him.

Sammy looked torn between surprised and impressed. "Yeah?" he asked eagerly. "Which one of you—us—you did it go after? What did it turn into? Some hot chick for you, I bet." He didn't want to think about what a siren would have turned into if it had gotten its claws into him—but then, Sam and Dean were still talking in this time, so either the siren had latched onto Dean, or Sam didn't have those feelings for him anymore. Sammy hoped it was the latter.

"It went after me," Dean admitted. He debated about saying what the siren had turned into, but then he shrugged, deciding it couldn't hurt. "Nah, not a chick. Turned into a chick for it's other victims, but me? Turned into the perfect little brother."

All the breath left Sammy in a sharp, shocked exhale, like he'd been punched in the stomach—and that was exactly how he felt. _The perfect little brother_. Holy shit. The book said that sirens turned into what their victim craved most—and apparently Sam had been doing such an awful job as a little brother that Dean had been craving a replacement. "Wow," Sammy breathed, unable to look Dean in the eye. "That's, uhh... Informative." What the hell would he do in the future that would make Dean so disappointed in him? Maybe Dean _had_ found out about Sam's feelings for him. The thought made Sammy feel sick.

Dean shrugged. "Sam and I weren't at the best place at the time," he confessed, catching the look on Sammy's face. "But... We've gotten better." _Slightly._

"Yeah?" Sammy asked, looking up. Somehow that didn't make him feel better, but he knew it was supposed to. "That's good. Um. Was there something you wanted?"

"Oh, yeah. Wanted to see if you wanted to come with me, check out the rest of the bunker. Sam and I haven't had a chance to explore a whole lot," Dean said, offering Sammy a grin.

Sammy grinned back, abandoning his book and getting to his feet. "Sure. Lead the way."

***

Dean and Sammy spent the rest of the evening exploring the bunker, but by eleven that night, Dean had come up with another problem: where Sammy was going to sleep. There were several other empty bedrooms along the hallway their bedrooms were in, but all of them had various amounts of dust, and Dean didn't even want to think about what could be living in the mattresses. He decided to pose the question when they met up in the library. "So, Sammy, where do you want to sleep?"

"Umm." Sammy's gaze flicked between Sam and Dean, clearly torn. He didn't want to sleep alone, but which one of the adults should he pick? Sam, probably, because Sam knew him—Sam _was_ him—so he would have nothing to hide, but... Dean, this Dean, was different only from _his_ Dean in that he wanted Sammy around. Sammy wasn't strong enough to let that opportunity get away from him. "With you, if that's okay. I always sleep better when my Dean's close, so..."

Dean grinned, pleased. "Sure, that's fine with me," he agreed. "C'mon, my room's down this way. See ya in the morning, Sam."

Sam lifted a hand, giving them both a little wave. "Goodnight."

Sammy followed Dean into his room and gasped at what he saw. "This is amazing," he grinned. "Really, really cool. Bet you love having your own room, huh?"

Dean grinned. "It's nice to have a mattress that doesn't smell like every hooker in a ten mile radius. But sometimes it's hard to sleep here; spent most of my life in motel rooms with Sam only five feet away. Feels weird having him down the hall." 

Sammy nodded, slipping out of his jeans and jacket. "Yeah, I bet it's weird for him, too," he admitted softly. "Uhh. You want me to sleep on the floor?"

"Nah, you're not as big as Sam," Dean said dismissively, ignoring the small, guilty voice that pointed out that he wanted Sammy close for less-than-innocent reasons. "C'mon; I'll turn out the light."

Relieved, Sammy crawled into bed and got himself comfortable on the side that had always been allocated to him when they'd shared a bed before. He pulled the covers up to his chin and smiled at Dean while he puttered around the room, getting ready for bed. There wasn't even a need to hide the way his gaze lingered on certain parts of Dean's body; he could just say that he was cataloguing the differences between his Dean and this one. 

Sammy really wasn't subtle; Dean could feel his gaze on Dean as he moved around the room. When he slid under the covers, he stretched, settling his arm around Sammy's shoulders, pulling the teen in closer. "This okay?" he asked, a little anxiously. It was instinct to pull Sam close, and it seemed to apply to Sammy as well.

Sammy's heart was hammering against his ribcage, his breath hitching with excitement. It took quite a bit of effort to make himself relax into Dean's hold. The Dean he knew, the nineteen year old, wouldn't do this; hadn't for quite some time. "Uh, yeah," he whispered when he'd finally gotten himself under control. "Yeah, it's good. Night, Dean."

Dean smiled softly to himself. "Night, Sammy," he murmured.

With Dean all around him, close and warm and perfect, Sammy fell asleep almost immediately with a smile on his face, the words, "It's Sam," not quite making it past his lips.

***

The clock on the bedside table read 2:47AM when Dean woke up. For a split second, he was confused about what had woken him up, but it might have been the warmth currently rocking against his hip. "Sam," he moaned softly, his arms tightening—

Wait a second.

That was too small to be Sam.

So it had to be Sammy.

He froze, then carefully patted Sammy's shoulder. "Sammy," he whispered.

"Wha-huh?" Sammy woke up confused and disoriented, but it didn't take him long for the reality of the situation to crash down upon him. "Shit!" he hissed, pushing away from Dean so hard that he almost fell off the bed. "Fuck, Dean, I'm so sorry." He was mortified, and on the verge of tears. All he'd wanted was to be close to Dean again, and he'd screwed everything up.

"Hey, hey, easy," Dean soothed, reaching out and clasping Sammy's shoulder. "It's okay. Not like I didn't go through this when I was younger. There's nothing for you to be sorry about."

Sammy shrugged Dean's hand off as though his touch had burned, but he began to calm down despite himself. "I won't do it again, I swear," he mumbled. "Just—just go back to sleep, okay?"

"Okay, as long as you do, too," Dean prompted. He settled back against his pillows, tucking Sammy in against his side. Before he fell asleep, his last thought was that he wished it was _Sam_ he was holding.

***

Predictably, Sam was up first the next day. Sammy was still in the 'sleep all day' teenage phase and Dean, who had never been allowed to go through that phase, seemed to have been making up for lost time since they'd moved into the bunker. Not bothering to wake them, Sam fixed himself a bowl of cereal and was halfway through it when an all-too-familiar fluttering sound had him looking up. His spoon clattered loudly into the bowl. "Cas?"

Castiel studied the younger Winchester intently. "Yes," he said finally. "Dean prayed to me yesterday; my apologies for taking so long. I was... otherwise occupied." He moved further into the kitchen. "So this is the headquarters of the infamous Men of Letters. Remind me to thank Dean for inviting me here." No angel had been able to find the bunker, and even if they could have, the sheer number of protections on the place—in every language—made it impossible for angels to simply fly in unless specifically invited by a human.

"I will," Sam told him, more than a little perplexed. Why had Cas appeared to him and not Dean? "Uh, I'm guessing you know our problem. A fifteen year old me turned up last night, with no clue as to how he got here. Can you help us?"

Cas paused, facing away from Sam. He could help them, but... Gabriel had a reason for sending Sammy. It was another lesson, this time for the three of them. "Perhaps," he hedged. "First we must know who or what has sent him here, and from when, exactly."

Sam hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I'm sure he could tell us the date and maybe even the time," he answered. "Should I go wake him?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, I believe that would be best."

Sam got up and left the room without another word, heading down the hall to Dean's bedroom. He entered without knocking, certain that the two inside would still be asleep, and he was right. The sight that greeted him was enough to take his breath away: Sammy was curled up in the arms of his brother, who was wrapped around the teenager as though to be separated from him would cause physical pain. Stamping down on a pang of jealousy, Sam painted a fond smile onto his face and approached the bed, grasping Dean's wrist where it rested on Sammy's waist, his hand pressed to the small of Sammy's back, and giving it a little shake. "Up and at 'em, guys. Cas is here, we need to talk."

Dean blinked blearily up at the older version of his younger brother, a sleepy thought winding through his mind: _Sam's gorgeous in the morning._ He flushed slightly. "Yeah, yeah, be right out," he muttered, shaking Sammy's shoulder.

Sam backed off pretty quick once Dean woke up, because a barely-awake Dean had always been difficult to resist. This was a fact that Sammy was also all too aware of, and when he found himself looking up into sleepy green eyes, his breath caught in the back of his throat. "I'm awake," he said stupidly, his tongue feeling thick and awkward in his mouth. He blinked. "Uhh. Who's Cas?"

"Angle— _Angel_ of the Lord," Dean yawned, sitting up and stretching before rolling out of bed, already missing the warmth against his side. "C'mon, I'll make breakfast, then you can meet him. How do bacon and cheese omelettes sound?"

Sammy completely missed the mention of food, already scrambling out of bed and into yesterday's clothes. "An _angel_?!" he asked eagerly. "A real angel? Oh my god, that's so cool!"

Dean chuckled at Sammy's enthusiasm. "All right, all right, calm down," he laughed, ruffling Sammy's hair. "Let's go meet him."

***

Cas watched the misplaced Winchester enter the kitchen, his face an expressionless mask. He'd known what Sam had looked like when he was fifteen—even then, Heaven had had its eye on the boy destined to become Lucifer's vessel—but seeing him in person, especially when he was brought to this time to teach Castiel and the Winchesters a lesson, hurt even worse than expected. "Sammy," he eventually said in lieu of a greeting, inclining his head slightly.

Sammy was all smiles and wide-eyed wonder. He barely managed to keep from whispering an extremely girly _wow he knows my name ohmygod_ and settled instead on, "Hello sir. It's an honour to meet you."

"Hm," Castiel hummed, turning to watch Dean move around the kitchen, fixing breakfast. The simple, domestic act made his chest ache, and he shoved the feeling away. Dean would never be his, not the way he wanted. "How long has he been here?"

"Showed up yesterday afternoon," Dean answered, bending over to retrieve the package of bacon. "Anyone want extra bacon?"

"I do!" both Sammy and Sam said together. The two wrenched their eyes away from Dean's ass to grin at each other, unaware that they shared the fixation. Sammy turned to Cas. "Can you help me get back to my own time?"

"Possibly," Cas allowed. First he would have to convince Gabriel to come here to return Sammy. "It will take some doing. Do you remember the exact time, date, and location?"

Sammy told Cas what he could, managing to give him the precise date and location as well as an approximate time. Sam gave him an encouraging smile when he looked over, clearly unsure about the consequences of being unable to answer the angel properly. "So can you just zap him back now?" Sam asked hopefully. "You've done that with me and Dean loads of times."

Cas frowned. "Sammy was brought here by something more powerful than me, and for a specific reason. I cannot just 'zap him back.' I can, however, go back myself and see if I can find whoever sent him here." He could see the way both Sams were watching Dean, as well as the glances Dean sent towards Sam. _Lesson learned,_ he thought, slightly bitter. Dean would not love him as he loved his brother.

Sam nodded. "Okay, then do that."

“Please," Sammy added, looking at his older self with some alarm. "He means 'please', sir."

Dean grinned. "Cas is used to being ordered around by us," he chuckled, slinging an arm around Cas's shoulders and squeezing affectionately.

Cas barely managed to cover his wince. "Yes, apparently my purpose is to serve the Winchesters," he said dryly, popping out of the bunker and to the time Sammy was taken.

Sammy was still staring at the place Cas had just been, evidently impressed; Sam peered over the top of his head to meet Dean's gaze. "Is it me, or did Cas seem a little weird to you? I mean, weirder than usual?" he asked mildly.

Dean thought it over, but then shrugged. "It's Cas. He's always been a bit weird, and I'm sure Purgatory didn't help." He turned back to the pan, finishing up the omelettes before sliding them onto plates. He grabbed forks out of a drawer, distributing one to each plate, and set the plates down on the table. "Dig in."

***

Gabriel was immediately aware that something was wrong; that something in the air had changed. Specifically, someone who wasn't supposed to be here had just popped into existence, right behind him. He turned around, and his jaw dropped. "Castiel?" he demanded, torn between horrified and delighted.  "What in creation brings you down here, bro? I always thought you were too high and mighty to walk among the Great Unwashed." Gabriel chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristic gesture of unease. "That even your vessel? Last I checked, he was still a kid."

Castiel raised one eyebrow, unimpressed. "You know from when I come," he said flatly. "I know why you sent the young Winchester. Bring him back."

Gabe just widened his eyes, the picture of innocence. "Winchester?" he repeated slowly. "I have no idea what you mean. I'm just minding my business, hiding from heaven... I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to them, by the way. I'm pretending to be a trickster down here, but I'm absolutely not interfering with anyone called Winchester."

Castiel stepped forward, right into his brother's face. "Gabriel. I know you have a fondness for teaching mortals lessons, and I know the lesson you have been trying to teach me with this... _trick_ of yours. And I have learned my lesson. Dean Winchester will never want me—Not like he wants his brother. So bring back the fifteen-year-old Winchester whom you transported, or so help me I _will_ tell Michael when you are."

Gabriel dropped the pretence immediately. "Fine," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Should've known you wouldn't believe I was the me from this time. I don't even know what I'm doing right now. Maybe I'm in the Caribbean..." He just grinned when Cas looked about ready to hit him. "Okay, okay, I'll come and send the boy back to his time—but this lesson was for them, not for you. I had no idea you were lusting after Deano, you dirty boy." That last part was kind of a lie, but Gabriel really hadn't dumped little Sammy on big Sammy's doorstep for Castiel's benefit.

Castiel shot Gabriel a look that stated he clearly did _not_ believe the archangel, and then followed Gabriel back to the bunker.

***

Back at the bunker, Sam had sequestered himself away in the library to allow Dean and Sammy to enjoy their remaining time together. The last he'd heard, Dean was planning to take Sammy down to the shooting range, which worked out just fine for Sam. The walls around the shooting range were so thick they were basically soundproof, which meant that Sam wouldn't have to listen to them having an awesome time without him. 

Much to his surprise, however, his brother and younger self had only been missing for half an hour when he heard a soft knock on the door. He called for whoever it was to enter, and smiled when Sammy slipped into the room looking incredibly small. "Hey man," he greeted softly. "What's up?"

"Dean thinks I'm getting a drink," was Sammy's answer. "I wanted to talk to you."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Okay... Take a seat," he said slowly. Sammy sat down in the chair he'd indicated but didn't speak again, fiddling instead with the sleeve of his hoodie. "What's on your mind?" Sam prompted gently. 

"Dean." Sammy blushed. "I mean, that's not new, I'm sure you know that, but it's a bit more specific than usual; it's _this_ Dean, and I was thinking... You seem distant, like you don't wanna spend time with him or something, and obviously you're still hunting together and you've got this place to live now which is amazing, but I wanna know... Do we—do we get Dean? Or does he just stay with us because he's our brother and he doesn't have a choice?"

Sam stared at the boy in front of him for a long moment—so long that the kid started to squirm uncomfortably, and only then did he look away. How it hadn't occurred to him before now that Sammy obviously felt the same for Dean as he had back then, Sam would never know. On some level, certainly, Sam had acknowledged that this had been a very difficult age for him, but it was only now becoming apparent that Sammy was lusting after, was _loving_ both of their Deans as much as he, Sam, ever had. Taking a deep breath, Sam met Sammy's gaze again and reached out over the table between them to cover one of his hands with his own. "We do," he murmured. "We don't end up here out of a warped sense of familial duty, and we don't end up despising Dean or vice versa. We love Dean with everything we have, and Dean gives himself to us time and time again in every way that we need him to." Sam could see the hope blossom in Sammy's eyes, and it killed him to have to say this next part—an admission he'd never before made out loud. "But not in the way we want him to. We get Dean in every way but that, Sammy, and it's... It's enough."

Sammy looked devastated, and unconvinced, and Sam wasn't sure he could blame him.

Dean had decided he needed a drink as well, so he'd followed Sammy just in time to hear Sam's last words. He barely retained enough presence of mind to move into the kitchen so it wasn't obvious that he'd overheard, but the rest of his mind was racing. Sam wanted him in _that_ way? He'd wanted it since he was fifteen? It blew his mind, that he wasn't the only one—

"Oof!" Dean glanced up to see who he'd run into. "Oh, sorry Gabri— _Gabriel_?"

"Hey there, Dean!" Gabriel beamed, opening his arms as though expecting a hug. "I know, I know, I'm supposed to be dead—but I'm not, and you can dry up those tears of joy right now because it's disgusting and unhygienic. Now, where's your brother? Um, both of them."

Dean stared at Gabriel for a moment. Then he hauled back and punched the angel in the face. It didn't do much beside make his fist hurt, but at least he got some satisfaction from it. "You dick, where the _hell_ have you been?" he snarled. "And my brothers are none—" Dean stopped, and then stared at Cas, who was standing behind the archangel.

"My brother thought it would... be funny to bring Sammy here," Castiel offered by way of explanation.

"Funny?!" Gabriel demanded thickly through the hands cupped around his nose, outraged. "I did it to teach this ungrateful bastard a lesson, and what do I get for my trouble? A fist to the face!" He was exaggerating a little—his nose was more likely to have broken Dean's knuckles than the other way around—but it was the principle of the thing. Gabriel dropped his hands away from his face and fixed Dean with a hard look. "Listen, I know ditching you guys back during the apocalypse was a douchey thing to do, but I knew you could pull it off! You didn't need me after my little stint on Casa Erotica told you everything you needed to know, and I figured if I lived to fight another day then I could help you again further down the line. Which is what I'm _trying_ to do now, assmunch."

"What the hell could you possibly hope to accomplish by bringing fifteen-year-old Sammy forward in time?" Dean demanded, incredulous.

Gabriel huffed, exasperated. "Well, I was hoping that once you were wading knee-deep in twice as much hormones and UST as normal, you might finally wake up and smell the coffee!"

"What's going on in here?" Everyone whirled around to look at Sam and Sammy as they entered the kitchen, the only difference between their expressions of confusion and more than mild irritation—bitchface number eight—the lines around Sam's eyes. Until Sam's jaw dropped when he realised who he was looking at. " _Gabriel_?!"

"You mean the archangel?" Sammy piped up, excited.

Gabriel just laughed and once again spread his arms wide. "The one and only, kiddo!"

"And the dick who brought you here," Dean grumbled. "Also, what on earth does 'UST' mean, anyway?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly, glaring at Gabriel. He knew that the angel was a dick, but he never would have guessed that he could be so cruel. Why would be want to out Sam to Dean? "Cas, did you know about this?" 

"Not until I saw Sammy," Castiel answered, shifting uncomfortably.

Dean shot Sam a suspicious look before turning back to the archangel. "You're still an asshat," he informed the being. "And your joke's done. Put Sammy back in his time before he's missed."

Gabriel affected a stricken expression. "Dean, I'm offended!" he whined, a hand over his heart. "Sammy won't be _missed_! I'll pop him right back at the exact second I took him, which means that he can stay for as long as it takes for you to learn your lesson."

"No!" This time it was Sammy who spoke up, looking desperate. "No, take me back now. Please. I wanna go back to _my_ Dean. Um, and my dad."

Dean glanced at Sammy before turning back to the archangel with a raised eyebrow. "You heard him. Put Sammy back."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Fine," he sighed, and clapped his hands in front of him. Sammy vanished. "He's back, the split second after I took him, and he doesn't remember a thing so he won't be able to give 'his Dean'—" These words were accompanied by Gabriel's fingers doing exaggerated air quotations. "—any spoilers about the adorable set-up you've got here. Happy now?"

Dean nodded. "You're not off the hook just yet, though," he warned Gabriel. "After I talk to Sam, I'm gonna be looking for you."

"Whatever," Gabriel sighed, looking put-upon. "You have my calling card." He disappeared with a soft fluttering sound, and Cas gave Dean a particularly mournful look before following on. 

Sam blinked, surprised. He knew that look. It took quite a bit of effort to drag his gaze back to Dean's face. "So, uhh..." he began hesitantly. "What now?"

Dean turned to Sam, studying his brother for a moment. "Now, you tell me what you were talking to Sammy about earlier."

Sam shrugged. "He wanted to know why I'd been keeping my distance; whether we're still together because we want to be or because we feel like we have to be," he answered as smoothly as he could, hoping the heat he could feel in his cheeks wasn't as obvious to Dean's eye.

"Mhm. And that bit about me not giving myself to you the way you want?" Dean pushed, needing to know he hadn't been imagining things.

Sam actually took a step away from Dean, swallowing hard, and hissed in a sharp breath when he backed right into the kitchen wall. He felt trapped, skittish like a cornered animal, and he did the only thing he could think of; he diverted Dean's attention away from himself. "Cas is in love with you."

Dean paused, considering, and then he shrugged. "So that's why he was acting weird. But he knows I don't love him; he's not stupid. He knows I love you."

Sam's breath quickened, but he forced himself to roll his eyes. "Don't be a dick, Dean, that's not the same," he insisted weakly. "And he doesn't know that. I know Castiel broke my head but that doesn't mean you can't love him."

"You're right, it doesn't," Dean agreed, moving closer. "But the fact that I've been in love with you since you were eighteen does." He held his breath, hoping he wasn't reading this wrong.

Sam snapped his gaze to Dean's, his eyes wide and more than a little scared. "Don't fuck with me, Dean," he begged on a sharp exhale. "It's not funny."

"Why would I do that? Look at me, Sam. Tell me I'm doing this just for shits and giggles," Dean ordered, reaching out to lay a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam did as Dean asked and he couldn't deny it: Dean wasn't lying. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't try. "You don't," he gasped, stricken. "Dean, you—you _can't_. Not me."

"And why not?" Dean demanded, gripping Sam's shoulders tightly. "Because you fucked up a few times? I forgave you for that shit long ago, Sammy."

"You did?" Sam asked, his eyes wet. "But I—I'm not—I have _demon blood_ in me, Dean. And I'm a terrible brother; you said so yourself. I don't deserve..."

Dean let out a hollow chuckle. "Sam, I—I was pissed. I said shit I don't mean. You're my brother, and I love you. Every way, no matter what." He slowly loosened his grip, smoothing out Sam's shirt before stepping back, a hollow ache in his chest. Obviously he'd misunderstood Sam—Sam wanted Dean to forgive him, to be his _brother_ again and let Sam be the same for Dean. Not for them to be together like _that._

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I shouldn't have—I'll just... go.... into town or something. For a while, let this blow over." The longer Sam stood there, unspeaking, the larger the ache in his chest grew. He felt like he needed to get out, to escape.

It suddenly occurred to Sam that everything he'd ever wanted was about to walk away from him and he reached out to catch Dean's elbow. "Wait," he pleaded, stepping away from the wall and into Dean's space. "Don't go. Please."

Dean shrugged Sam's hand off. "I'm not leaving you," he said, his voice sounding empty even to his own ears. "I just... I get it, okay? You don't feel the same. Just give me a while to get used to it." Disappointment was stabbing him in the heart, but it was a feeling he was just going to have to get used to.

"I won't," Sam refused stubbornly, sliding the hand that Dean had shrugged off around the back of his neck. "If I let you leave there's a good chance you won't come back, and even if you do then there's a better chance that you won't let me do this." And then he tugged Dean in and kissed him.

Dean let out a surprised gasp, though it was swallowed and echoed by Sam. After a moment, Dean relaxed into his brother, kissing Sam back softly. When they broke apart, Dean leaned back, not quite leaving Sam's embrace just yet. "Sam?" he asked uncertainly, forcing himself to look Sam in the eye.

"UST stands for 'unresolved sexual tension'," Sam murmured by way of explanation, a soft smile on his slightly swollen lips. "Gabriel brought Sammy here because he wanted you to realise that I've been in love with you since I was fifteen."

Dean stared at Sam, his mouth hanging open for a moment. Then he smacked Sam in the chest. "You've been in love with me for over fifteen years, and when you find out I feel the same, you just _stand there_?" he demanded angrily, glaring at Sam.

Sam recoiled from Dean's anger, his eyes wide and sad. "Dean, _fifteen years_ ," he repeated desperately. "I've had to deal with this for more than half of my life, so I'm sorry if I've spent so long hating myself that it was difficult for me to accept that you might want me back straight away."

"Well yeah, that I get, but the way you reacted—Shit, Sam, I thought what I'd heard you say to Sammy didn't mean what I thought." Dean softened his glare just a bit.

Sam shook his head and looked away, his mouth twisting down at the corners. "Dean, I love you," he said softly. "And I... I love that you love me. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't feel worthy of it. I'm dirty, I'm tainted, and I've let you down so many times. I thought, if not you and Cas, then you and Benny... I _never_ thought you and me. I don't _deserve_ you."

Dean's expression softened fully. "Then let me show you that you deserve it. It's only ever been you, Sam." He frowned at that. "Damn, this is one hell of a chick-flick moment."

Sam smiled tentatively and held out his hand to Dean. "I won't tell if you won't."

Dean grinned, taking his brother’s hand and leaning up to kiss Sam again. "Sounds like a plan," he mumbled.


End file.
